I read this story once, when I was a child, it was one of those awful things that are supposed to appeal to children but instead mock their lack of sophistication. It was about this smart boy, this terribly smart boy, this extremely arrogant terribly smart boy. Something, in the story, makes him progressively stupider. It has, I am certain, something to do with said arrogance. He goes from being able to understand almost anything to having trouble with the basics. He is conscious of the process.
Not so suddenly, I feel like that boy. I used to be confident in my intelligence but lately I’ve felt little more than moronic. Perhaps I’m finally getting over that superiority complex – or maybe just meeting superiority complexes that make mine look all pale and sickly. Or even intelligences that show the façade that is mine.
I no longer have absolute conviction. I begin to wonder if I have any kind of conviction.
This is becoming too much like a very dull diary. Oh dear.
10 comments:
Hello,
Was the story "Flowers for Algernon"? I remember reading a "for kids" cutdown version of that when I was a wee lad.
I entirely sympathise with the second half of your post but don't have anything useful to offer as I am in a similar position and haven't yet quite worked out how to navigate past it.
Oh well.
Best,
Richard
Sounds to me like the batteries in the pink rabbit need upgrading. (Why I thought that metaphor would work I don't know).
Don't just have the existential angst, work it, study it, put it into context, then when you have its number work through it and then turn around and kick it in the teeth. Works for me.
I have no convictions - but only because I haven't been caught yet.
As for the Serious Side - I'm with jth on this one. May I also recommend industrial-sized doses of Chocolate. Lindt 85% Cocoa by preference.
I think Flowers for Algernon is kind of the opposite of that story - where someone gets progressively smarter and smarter until they die of being too smart. Perhaps you should read that.
My (admittedly fairly vague) memory is that the guy in "Flowers for Algernon" gets smarter, then dumber - and his newfound smartness is what makes him painfully conscious of (ahem) dumbing down.
Something for everyone then.
This should sort it out:
Flowers for Algernon | Summary
Part I—Charlie Becomes a Genius
Part II—Charlie as a Genius
Part III—Charlie Loses His Genius
See what a fabulous host I am? I even google for you! As it happens, I don't think I've read this but Charlie is sounding like such a Charlie.
[After reading synopsis.] That's a kids' book? How utterly depressing; no wonder the little fuckers don't want to read.
I think what I read was a short story, probably by Paul Jennings. I never did like that fucktard. And remember, kiddies, it's just a freakin book like that bibble thing...
You know, jth, when you mentioned batteries and a pink bunny I got an entirely different mental image to anything see on prime time. It took me a bit but I got there in the end. Hmmm.
I'm thinking of sweeping the angst under the carpet with some shopping, a tropical retard [oops typo that should say 'retreat'], alcohol [mmmm], shopping, alcohol, and even more Lindt [which, alas, does not resolve the anguish that is my hips]. Maybe something to read that actually exercises my brain. Yeah. I think it's finally time to crack 'The making of the English working class'. Been meaning to read it for years. lol
I think we all feel like that at some point. I know I have my moments. And your diary is not dull (or at least I don't think so...)
Glen, I literally mean that I feel like I'm getting stupider. My brain is unable or perhaps unwilling to process information the way it could/can. It feels like melting swiss cheese - mmmmm, holey goodness. It feels, unsurprisingly, under-utilised. As for conviction, in my dumb-as-fuck-edness, well, I'm not sure I can be arsed doing, or caring about, anything. Not that that isn't an okay thing in its own way, but, personally, I think caring adds to the general joy of life.
Ugh, the blog is a cultivated capacity for creativity born of my existential angst? Um, switch existential angst for profound vanity and the crap about creativity for whingefest and we begin the approach [terribly sorry] to truth. Should I invert commas around truth?
One last little note [okay, I lie], I think, if I could legitimately be borg then I might be able to be constantly content, if not actually happy. It is my inborn inability to be borg, to settle, to not think that marks the problem. It isn't something I strive for and it's not really something I'd choose to lose [in my more rational moments, of course]..
Of course, there is a chance that I totally misunderstood what you said [see above re swiss cheese] and I will admit that, as always, your jargon left me awed. Be a dear and translate 'highly efficient switching mechanisms' into something approaching a phrase that I stand a chance of understanding without the benefit of your particular educational and cultural bent. It sounds suspiciously like it should be in Weasel Words but I couldn't find it. [Maybe some viewers will get this: I suspect that particular phrase would have the esteemed Dr J.Y. Wong in tears.
Marina, thanks for the vote of confidence. [Oh dear, must consult thesaurus more.]
Talk about too damn tired to edit properly! A to for a the. And the world has a right bracket on the loose somewhere. Oh deary me!
The Jargonator strikes again. Such a small textarea and so many ideas... ;)
I think Nails already is a borg, but finds herself in need of an upgrade. Like HAL at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Not at all like Algernon - who was a mouse and not some dumb Charlie.
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